


Demon Delirium

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dubious Consent (NOT Sherlock/John), Halloween, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: The man swept into Sherlock's life like an ill wind that blows no good. There was just something off putting about him- dark. Can John save Sherlock? Does he NEED saving?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Original Male Character
Comments: 21
Kudos: 39
Collections: Spooky Johnlock Collection





	Demon Delirium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlwaysJohn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/gifts), [ChrisCalledMeSweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/gifts), [DaisyFairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/gifts), [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/gifts), [Podfixx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Podfixx/gifts), [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/gifts), [simplyclockwork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/gifts).



> John never spoke up. Now Sherlock has sought comfort elsewhere.
> 
> ** Please note the tags. I have tagged this dub-con out of an abundance of caution. Sherlock DOES consent but there are evil forces at work. Be aware if this might be triggering for you.**
> 
> This is the first story I have actually plotted out in its entirety and not just written on the "fly". Hope you enjoy.

16th October -

John was drunk off his arse. The last time he'd been this pissed was on leave in Dubai from Afghanistan shortly before he was shot. What few hazy memories he had of those nights were good, tonight decidedly was not. Far from being raucous young soldiers out to carouse and get a leg over night, this was one lonely man trying to drown his misery in far too many pints and shots.

When last call had long passed, he stumbled tits over tea kettles out of The Beehive Pub and tried to decide what to do next. If he had gone to The Volunteer, a short ways from 221B, he could have crawled home. But the "blog groupies" had become too bothersome there and Sherlock had been lured by, of course, the promise of Bees. So John faced the prospect of a daunting trek or risking throwing up in the backseat of a cab, provided he could get one. Besides, he didn't want to go home, if Baker Street could even be called that anymore. Unfortunately his housing options had evaporated like his dreams. He had only himself to blame for not being honest with Sherlock about...well damn near everything. Now it was too late.

Perhaps he'd just roam the streets and collapse in an alley in hopes that one of the Homeless Network would find him and provide shelter. He could count on them not to judge his life choices poor as they had been. This was just the most recent of his benders and he had worn out his welcome with Greg and even Harry, so a dark alley it would be.

🍺🐝🥃😵🍺🐝🥃😵

Mired in his own thoughts, John didn't realize he had actually made it to the big black door which loomed before him like a Hell Maw rather than a Welcome Mat. He found it unlocked and sighed as he remembered rushing out in such a huff that he hadn't bothered with the lock or his wallet. Note to self: Being a regular at The Beehive allowed him to run a tab- not a bad thing. Unlimited access to "free" alcohol when in a funk- bit not good. He was NOT looking forward to morning.

Right then. He was back at the flat but he was damned if he would go upstairs. No, he'd just make himself comfortable on the floor of the entryway and...

"Oh bollocks! No you don't John Watson. I'll not have you littering up my hallway snoring or God knows what else. Get your sorry self into my kitchen and I promise you WILL be sorry if you don't!"

It wasn't helping that John was seeing multiple Marthas plus the sight of her glowering down at him, arms crossed in defiance and her hair a riot of curlers in every color of the rainbow, made him move double time.

After being forced to down what was surely a hundred liters of water and coffee - actually 2 glasses and 3 cups black - Hudders had at least been reduced to twins. "I take it that 'person' is upstairs with Sherlock."

"Well spotted", came his slurred mumble in reply. "Don like 'im, Martha, bloody bastard!"

Her sneer in response said it all. "Nor do I dear. He's too slick, too...perfect. Suspicious if you ask me."

"Too right. Poncy tosser- not a hair out of place, and whoever heard of a bloke who never has so much as a piece of lint or wrinkle on his clothes?"

"Not to mention those frankly malevolent eyes, John. Creepy I'd call them."

John nodded. Rationally he knew that an abundance of melanin could give someone overly dark eyes but no one had totally black eyes. Except this guy certainly appeared to, his eyes so pitch black that at first glance John felt like he was staring into oblivion. "Looks at you like he's homicidal. And that name, who has a name like that?"

Hudders rose to make more coffee and John fell into the memories of his worst nightmare.

⚫️👁⚫️👁⚫️👁⚫️👁

A week prior. 9th October-

It had been an easy Friday at the clinic and John thought to surprise Sherlock by cooking the "thing with the peas". Standing at the hob he had been startled to hear Sherlock laughing, and from the sound of it he wasn't alone. Two sets of footfalls on the stairs was followed by :

"Come in, please. It's only my flatmate, no problem."

"ONLY me", thought John coldly, and things were about to get worse.

"Don't be rude John, I have a guest."

Not a client then, and "I" have a guest, not "we". "So I hear." Turning stiffly John came face to face for the first time with HIM.

"John, this is Colsan Wesix. Cols, my colleague, John Watson."

Whether it was the sting of the word colleague or being relegated to what felt like second class status, John snapped back "DOCTOR John Watson."

Sherlock looked oddly unsettled momentarily but then began to babble like a lovestruck teenager. "Cols and I met at the morgue last night. He's taking over for Molly while she's at her cousin's wedding in New Zealand. He has some new investigative pathology methods that are fascinating."

John grunted, that explained why Sherlock didn't deign to come home until after breakfast that morning. "You should have let me know you were coming, Sherlock. I've only prepared enough for two."

"Don't be bothered John. Cols and I are going out to dinner then I'm going to keep him company during his night shift. You can save the rest for tomorrow or pop down to Hudders. Be useful and entertain Cols while I change my shirt." Casting a flirty glance at the visitor he purred, "Wouldn't do to not look my best."

With Sherlock gone, John finally looked, really looked, at Colsan Wesix. He appeared to be younger than Sherlock but that was difficult to judge, 3 perhaps 4 centimeters taller, and around a stone heavier with what seemed to be an overly fit physique disguised by an outrageously expensive suit. The whole package was topped off by flaming red hair, shorter than Sherlocks but with more posh product. Most striking/alarming though were his eyes, an impossible shade of black, that were boring into John who wondered if there were two holes being burned into the wall behind him.

If taking the measure of Mr. Wesix wasn't annoying enough, John's mood turned ferocious when Sherlock returned wearing the purple shirt that definitely challenged the the blogger's tenuous grip on heterosexuality. When or how the new "couple" left John couldn't say. He was too busy seeing red.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

"So, take my advice, John, and march yourself right up those stairs and reclaim your home!" Her kindly but firm voice jarred John back to the present.

"Great", he thought, "Sherlock talks to me when I'm not there and I tune Hudders out when I am."

"Are you listening to me young man? This must stop! I don't like it anymore than you that Sherlock is running around with that...that MAN, but you can't be going out getting blind drunk every time they do. You'll ruin your health, chase away the friends who've put up with you so far and not solve a blasted thing. After all, where does that nose in the air knob get off pushing you out of your own flat? Doesn't he have a place to take Sherlock when they want to have a hump?"

John looked up shocked to find Martha's face flushed, her eyes flashing. It was clear to her that last remark had hurt. "Oh goodness, I'm so sorry, dear. That was...I think I'm the one needing a drink now."

"No Martha, you're right. I pay my share of the rent, have a job that requires I sleep and stay healthy and it ISN'T fair that I'm being turned out of the flat like a stray mongrel. Don't know that I'm up to marching but I am going up to MY bed and if the 'lovebirds' don't like it then screw them!"

He felt himself blush as Hudders giggled, "Maybe a different turn of phrase, dear."

"I take your point. Well, into battle."

🛡🛡🛡🛡🛡🛡🛡🛡

If John had been hoping for some small bit of normalcy that expectation was dashed when he entered the flat to find Sherlock's bedroom door wide open revealing both men nude and indeed "having a vigorous hump". They didn't hear him approach until he gasped, "Christ!"

Colsan threw a smug smirk in his direction and Sherlock, devoid of embarrassment, blurted out "Come along John, make up your mind. Go away, pull up a chair or join in. No wait, delete that last 'Mister I'm not gay'." Lewd laughter ringing in his ears John bolted up to his room.

Although shaken and exhausted, he found sleep would not come. He hadn't cried out in disgust but rather in horror because in that brief moment before he was discovered John had seen...what the buggering fuck HAD he seen? Or did he see it?

Well before first light John heard stirring downstairs. He put on jeans and a T-shirt and confronted Colsan in the sitting room.

"Best keep it down, little man. Sherlock's lost to the world, I wore him out. You're looking a bit worse for wear. Hungover?"

John bristled, "Not terribly, ta for asking. Not having the D.T.s if that's what you're asking."

A strange scowl passed over Colsan's face but he quickly covered it with a cruel smile. "Drinking that much tends to cause hallucinations, Johnny boy."

"Not seeing snakes or spiders, Wesix. In fact I think I'm seeing..."

"Cols, come back to bed." Sherlock stood there naked, hair standing up in all directions. He was thinner, his skin a sickly putrid shade of grey.

John's first thought was he looked like death warmed over. Why hadn't he noticed before? "Sherlock you all right?"

"Of course John, what's going on?"

Wesix walked behind Sherlock groping him brazenly and sucking a deep love bite on his long elegant neck. "Nothing my own. John was just trying to disabuse me of my suspicion that his inebriation last night lead him to seeing things that aren't there. Doesn't hold his liquor well does he?"

John's blood ran cold. Now he knew he HAD seen something and he had to backtrack fast. "Yeah, that's all Sherlock and now that I think of it I WAS seeing more than one Hudders so who knows what else. Sorry you two for the interruption."

Wesix was placated and turned to Sherlock. "I need to go now poppet, but I'll see you tonight. Don't whine or I'll have to punish you. Go back to sleep and dream of me." Then he left quietly not bothering to acknowledge John again.

Swaying violently Sherlock slowly made his way back to bed leaving John alone, his mind racing. "Poppet" should be an affectionate term of endearment; then why was he recalling from some old story or other that poppet also meant a figure of a human being used in sorcery?

It was insane John knew, but Sherlock was wasting away right in front of his eyes and John was now convinced he had seen something not of this mortal world. Sherlock was in terrible danger and it was time to get help. Time to call Mycroft.

🐍🕷🐍🕷🐍🕷🐍🕷

19th October-

John couldn't blame the trio seated opposite him in Mycroft's office for looking at him as if he might be having some sort of PTSD breakdown. He had trouble believing the story himself, but at least Mycroft, Greg and Martha had agreed to hear him out.

"John dear, I know Sherlock dating has been hard on you but..."

"I realize how this sounds."

"Mate, we're not doubting you", Greg said earnestly.

"But you think I'm barmy."

Mycroft scanned John's face giving nothing away. "As Gregory says, John, we are NOT questioning your sincerity."

"Goddamnit Mycroft! It was real and Sherlock needs our help. Jesus can't you see what a state he's in?"

Martha sighed, "He's so pale and thin and...I don't have the words- disconnected as if he's in a daze."

"I don't suppose it has escaped your attention that he's stopped gagging and snarking every time he sees you two together. Mycroft? Greg?"

The D.I. looked pained. "Are you sure it's not drugs again John?"

"Can't say I'm proud to admit this but after he passed out at that crime scene last week I made him give a blood and urine sample. I was legitimately checking a number of things but I also ran a tox screen- nothing. No evident physiological reasons for any of it."

"I've noticed he's having memory troubles too", Martha added, "and I've never known him to sleep like he is. Hours at a time and twice almost an entire day."

"All serious concerns I will allow, but what you're suggesting John..."

"He's your brother! If you can't accept what I'm saying then find a way to prove me wrong."

The older Holmes steepled his fingers under his chin, an eerie impersonation of Sherlock. "As you are aware, Sherlock's return to health under your care compelled me to remove all surveillance equipment from Baker Street but I could send a team."

"That's too risky. Sherlock is mentally out of it but Wesix isn't."

"Very well, I have an alternate suggestion. A small but effective recording device that can be placed in a way as to not arouse attention. I will have one available for you day after tomorrow as it must be custom made. Employing it we will have irrefutable evidence either way."

"Wednesday will work because Wesix will be spending the night on his usual Friday and Saturday. I just need to get Sherlock out of our flat."

"Leave that to me dear. I doubt anything short of a serial killer could get him out of the building but my gingernuts fresh and hot from the oven WILL get him out of the flat."

🍪🥛🍪🥛🍪🥛🍪🥛

21st October-

Hudders had been right. The aroma of biscuits wafting from 221A drew Sherlock like a moth to a flame.

Upstairs John scrambled to place the spy cam. Scanning Sherlock's room as if he were doing military recon, he zeroed in on the Periodic Table hanging beside the bed. Placing the device at the correct angle and height would give a clear picture of the bed's occupants. Pushing aside his distaste and feeling more than a bit like a traitor he sought out the best spot. 

He settled on Element 67 Holmium, Ho, a soft silvery white metal much like Sherlock's pallor of late. As he installed it on the crossbar of the H John found himself ruefully thinking of Holmium- Holmesian. If the situation wasn't so frightening and desperate it would be pure farce.

📸🎤📸🎤📸🎤📸🎤

26th October-

The secret "Save Sherlock Holmes" crew had grown by one in number. "I know we've not seen the results yet but I took the liberty of asking him to come. If we ARE dealing with the supernatural no one is a better amateur expert.", Martha assured them.

John blinked owlishly at the man that he had often teased was part elf or leprechaun. The man gazing at him with a gentle smile- Mike Stamford.

Discreetly clearing his throat Mycroft began. "While the footage is being readied for viewing I must report that, to my frustration, I was unable to compile any information on Colsan Wesix. No internet or paper trail, no residence of record. For all intents and purposes he does not exist."

"How is that possible?", Martha asked.

Before Mycroft could answer, Greg spoke up. "My men worked with Myc's people and none of us could track him. It was like every time he left Baker Street he would disappear into thin air. Granted, he only showed himself in the darkest hours before dawn but it's...scary."

"Thank you Gregory for your contribution and my thanks to you John for your espionage efforts. While it is well within my purview to have watched the footage in real time I was reluctant to violate the trust that has developed of late between my brother and myself."

One of Mycroft's minions chose that moment to appear with the DVD.

John reached out and took his landlady's small hand. "Martha, we don't know what we might see. If you'd be more comfortable stepping out..."

She sat up straight, resolute but not insulted. "Thank you dear, but I was married to a very bad man, and have taken men, women and, at times, those who are proudly non-binary as lovers. I've seen and done most anything you can imagine, so I am quite prepared to endure whatever needs must for the good of my boy."

The room was darkened and the DVD began to whir. At first nothing of note occurred, a bit of fondling and foreplay with Wesix spewing a constant string of filthy talk that would make a Royal Marine cringe while Sherlock was completely silent as if in a stupor.

Abruptly the mood turned frantic with Wesix stripping off both of their clothes and throwing Sherlock roughly on the bed. A soft collective gasp filled the office as Sherlock was pounced upon by a predator stalking prey.

Greg placed a consoling hand on Mycroft's arm and squeezed as the scene became viscous with Sherlock being impaled with little preparation or care. Suddenly Martha shrieked!

It was beyond comprehension, but what they were seeing could not be denied. Wesix transformed into something NOT human. Huge red wings supported by black ribs topped with razor sharp spurs sprouted from his back. His formerly flawless forehead held two small red horns and a long red tail with an arrow shaped tip emerged from his hindquarters.

The bedroom was now filled with feral animal noises as Sherlock's limp body was brutally ravaged. Afterwards Wesix resumed his previous form and leisurely dressed while an incapacitated Sherlock slept.

Greg ejected the DVD and wheezed, " What the motherfucking shite was THAT?!"

"That", John growled, "was what I saw."

To this point Mike had only been an observer. Now leaning forward he spoke in a tone that demanded attention. "Martha, gentlemen, THAT is an incubus."

He set about describing what they were up against. "Explains a lot actually. Wesix never seen in daylight, his lack of traceable whereabouts and his hypnotic influence over Sherlock. The physical and mental deterioration is the result of their encounters. Incubi are either blood or memory takers, Wesix seemingly the latter. If not stopped he will drain Sherlock until nothing remains but a shell.

John jumped to his feet knocking over a small table with a crash. "I'll stop him! I'll kill him with my bare hands!"

Greg moved to intercept him. "John wait, we don't understand what we're fighting."

"Gregory is correct. As much as we all wish to see this...demon drawn and quartered we must be armed with knowledge."

"Sit down John", Mike urged, "and let me tell you what you need to defeat Wesix."

When calm prevailed Mike continued. "There's one way to vanquish an incubus, he must be captured in an Arclight. It's a ball shaped 'prison' if you will, and there's an incantation you must recite when using it. It will take me several days to procure an Arclight, you can't just pick one up at Tesco." Taking out his mobile, Mike scrolled his contacts to A.Z. Fell AND Co. and texted: "Gentlemen, I need your assistance."

Stunned, John shouted, "I don't bloody care Mike! I'm finding him now and..."

Replacing his mobile in his pocket Mike turned his attention back to the group. "John, Wesix can't be found because he only exists in this realm when he's with Sherlock so Friday night is our earliest chance. Besides there's more."

The normally cherubic man looked anguished. "You're not going to want to hear this next but the Arclight can only be used when Wesix is actively engaged with Sherlock."

"You mean raping!"

"I'm sorry, but yes. Only then is the incubus as in thrall with his victim as the victim is with him. If you were to attack Wesix in his human form you might trounce him but not capture him and it would do nothing to rescue Sherlock. Trust me, please, I have a plan."

👹⚔️👹⚔️👹⚔️👹⚔️

30th October 11 pm- 

It had taken all of John's fortitude to excuse himself and retire to his room when Wesix appeared at their door. Mike had been very explicit in his instructions to John about how critical the timing of things was to the success of the plan. Sitting on the floor he examined the Arclight in his hand. It was an unremarkable clear glass ball that looked like nothing more than a cheap ornament. It had no decoration or opening but according to Mike it was a powerful magic vessel. His ears perked up at the sounds of Sherlock and Wesix going to the bedroom and he ground his teeth waiting for the moment he could strike.

When the air was filled with the obscenities vomited from the demon's mouth John stealthily made his way downstairs. This time his mind and vision were clear as he glared at the scene in front of him. Mike had given him good advice. Incubus Wesix was finishing and he and Sherlock were both in a foggy delirium. It was now or never.

John charged forward as if he was back at war, fury burning in his heart. "Let go of him you son of a bitch!" He went to grab a shoulder then thought better of it and dug his fingers in a vice like grip into one of the leathery wings which had a wet slimy feel. For a second Wesix didn't resist then with renewed awareness he turned full force on John.

Mustering all his strength John held on to the wing, pressed the Arclight to Wesix's chest and began the spell as he silently prayed "Dear God don't let me make a mistake."

"If a spirit threatens me in this place, Fight Water by Water and Fire by Fire. Banish his soul into nothingness, and remove his powers until the last trace. Let this evil being flee, through time and space." At the last word the clock struck midnight.

The room seemed to suddenly swirl at a dizzying speed, someone or something roared and John felt himself fly through the air slamming into the wall opposite the bed. When he came back to consciousness he saw Sherlock collapsed in a heap. Wesix was gone. The Arclight had somehow remained clutched in John's fist but now it contained a thick black liquid streaked with blood red.

Sherlock groaned and John was instantly by his side. "Ooh, John, John are you here?"

"I'm here 'Lock, right here with you."

"Am I naked? Why am I naked? It's freezing in here."

John quickly covered Sherlock with the duvet tucking it snugly around him. "There, that should warm you up."

"What's happening John? I don't remember coming to bed, I don't...I don't remember anything."

Memory loss, another point for Mike. "It's alright, you've been sick for a few weeks and running a pretty high fever these last couple of days."

"Days, weeks, and you've cared for me all that time?"

"Course, that's my job innit? But the crisis is over and you'll soon be well."

"What day is it?"

John smiled, "Halloween. Do me a favour, next year don't go to such extremes to avoid the Yard's costume party, yeah?"

"Everything hurts. Even my anus hurts, why in hell would my anus hurt?"

The truth was never going to be an option and John steeled himself to invent a believable explanation. "You, ah, had quite a bout with gastrointestinal distress."

"You had to clean up after I...Oh John I'm so sorry."

"None of that now. Doctor remember? The skitters or giving a prostate exam, all the same to me."

Sherlock grimaced, "The skitters? Pulling out one of your colourful Scottish phrases doesn't make it any less unpleasant."

"Never you mind. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you love."

Sherlock concentrated on clearing his blurry vision blinking rapidly. "You called me love. You...John you love..."

"Since forever I think, I was just too much of a coward to admit it to myself much less you. But when you were...sick, yeah I do."

Pulling John down beside him onto the bed Sherlock sighed, "Me too. It's always been you John and I want you if you'll have me. You know my history of trading certain sex acts for drugs when I was younger."

"Sherlock."

"No, let me finish. I did many things but never penetrative sex. I want that with you John. I want you to be the first man to make love to me."

John folded back the duvet as he climbed in the bed and took Sherlock in his arms. "I can do that for you my darling. I WILL be the first MAN to make love to you. Rest now and we'll get you into a warm bath later. Best thing next to cuddling."

In moments Sherlock fell into a peaceful sleep as John carded gentle fingers through beloved dark curls.

🌈❤️🌈❤️🌈❤️🌈❤️

5th November Guy Fawkes Night-

Sherlock was beginning to regain his energy but retained no memory of Colsan Wesix or any of their time together. The band of "soldiers" had sworn an oath of secrecy and the terrifying episode was forever buried.

As they walked up Baker Street to Rossmore Road towards the bonfire John fingered the Arclight tucked inside his jacket. "Beautiful night for it and because you've been so good these past days I've got a surprise for you."

"Happy as I am to be going out, especially with you, unless your surprise is a gruesome murder..."

"It's not a murder you cock but it is combustible and a bit explosive."

Sherlock's mouth fell open in a wordless gawp and John picked up the pace. "Shake a leg. Sooner we get there sooner you get your surprise."

The bonfire was blazing away with the hapless effigy of Guy Fawkes perched on top awaiting his yearly demise. Excited children chanting "Penny for the Guy" danced around their parents who were more interested in the nearby tables sagging under platters of sausages and marshmallows ready for roasting and Parkin Cakes, their spicy gingerbread smell filling the air. There was Apple cider for the young and the Teetotalers and a heady mulled wine topped with star anise for the others.

John suggested they enjoy the feast but Sherlock was having nothing of that. "You promised me a surprise, deliver please."

"Small mercies", John thought, that he had chosen a neighborhood celebration rather than one with throngs of people all vying for a good view of the fireworks. "In a tic, we have to wait for the right moment- a distraction."

Sherlock's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Then John Hamish Watson IS going to to do something worthy of an ASBO."

"Not me, you. But I'd rather we avoid the court case."

Smiling, Sherlock recalled their first case together. "Something pink?"

"No, black and red actually but as I said it might produce an impressive bang."

"I am liking this criminal side of you John, quite stimulating.", Sherlock murmured as his roaming hand sought out a certain part of John's anatomy.

"Not here, brat, but when we get home I promise to light your fire."

Loud squeals from the children announced the start of a game where apples hung from strings tied to a makeshift scaffolding were to be "captured" using only mouths, no hands. The clamor grew louder as the parents cheered and the kiddies laughed as their "prizes" eluded them.

"Enough of a din Doctor?"

"Quite so Detective." He withdrew the orb from his jacket and handed it to Sherlock.

"What have we here? Looks to be black tar and red goo."

"Not very scientific but close enough. All you need to know is it's yours to catapult."

"So I'm the bowler and this is my cricket ball?"

"If you like but I don't recommend bouncing it, just a straight toss would be best."

When pandemonium erupted yet again Sherlock took perfect aim and hurled the sphere into the flames. To those closest there was a brief sound of breaking glass followed by a huge cloud of red and black smoke belching from the pyre. Then, the fire began to scream.

If damnation had a sound John was sure they were hearing it. "Tootle pip Cols old boy.", John muttered under his breath.

The spooked crowd reacted just in time to see Guy Fawkes succumb to his fate. A chorus of oohs, ahhs and applause filled the air joined by more than one shout of "great sound effects".

By the time Guy was cinders the haunting scream had ceased. "Brilliant John, you have surpassed yourself. The explosion was impressive and how fortuitous that someone here engineered a 'Gates of Hades' sound to coincide with the fall of the dummy."

John sent a silent thank you skyward. "Glad you liked it, love. Had enough mischief for the night or are you hungry now?"

"Starving but not for food. Come along you vandal, I have lots of illegal behavior planned for us. That is if my physician judges me fit for such activities."

Grabbing Sherlock around the waist John planted a sloppy kiss on his lips leaving him with a goofy besotted expression on his face. "I pronounce you fully recovered and will do everything in my power to see that you never fall 'ill' like that ever again. I'm going to make it my business to protect you and all our family and friends always. And speaking of friends, we need to see Mike Stamford more often."

"Agreed, he did play a large part in our initial association."

"More than you know, 'Lock, more than you know."

Overhead fireworks began blanketing the city sky with percussive sounds and vibrant displays. As they walked towards home Sherlock took John's hand interlocking their fingers. " You know John it's quite interesting how fire can be made to scream. It involves gunpowder and steel containers with holes and the end effect is really exceedingly..."

Whatever Sherlock said after that was lost to the loud pyrotechnics and John's reflections. Before he might have been amused or, on a bad day, irritated at Sherlock going on about subjects no "normal" human would possibly know or even want to know but now, tonight, it was the most wondrous thing in the universe. John decided then and there that if this was to be HIS delirium he would gladly "suffer" it for all eternity.

🔥🎆🔥🎆🔥🎆🔥🎆

**Author's Note:**

> *The Arclight is taken from The Caster Chronicles by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl.
> 
> ** The Volunteer and Beehive Pubs are real establishments in London.
> 
> *** Google Screaming Fire on YouTube for a hair raising experience.
> 
> **** The Wiccan spell is authentic but I can't vouch for its veracity.
> 
> To the "Gang" to whom this is gifted, thanks for being a constant source of support and joy in my life. You are all Stars.
> 
> Here's hoping everyone has a Happy Halloween with lots of Spooktacular fun. I'm getting far to old to go door to door so if you would kindly drop a treat in my Trick or Treat bag in the form of kudos or comments it would be scary good.🎃👻🦇💀
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Pat


End file.
